Like Mistletoe
by RedXRover
Summary: Super late Christmas fic; my first NedGer. Rated T for Lars' bitchy, snarky attitude and slight language. Thank you to those of you out there who are still reading my stories and please don't forget to leave a little review if you so please; I really appreciate those. Also a special thanks to HetalianLightSwitch for their support. This fic is for that individual.


Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish I did, I do not own these fine gentlemen. If I did, Hetalia would be a new clusterfuck of gay on a level that it hasn't reached yet. /bows

ON WITH THE SHOW

* * *

This wasn't how Lars had pictured his weekend with Ludwig. He'd pictured a nice dinner, quiet movie, a couple of beers, a panting German beneath him at some point preferably... His Christmas wish.

But as his eyes swept across the vast square of the mall for the third time, he begrudgingly came to the conclusion he would not be getting laid anytime in the foreseeable future.

Under normal circumstances, Lars avoided the mall at all costs. It was filled with annoyingly stupid people buying and selling annoyingly stupid products. Already he'd had to give a number of women-and two men-an ill willed look of contempt for ogling his German. Couldn't they see he was with Ludwig? Or, more accurately, trailing sullenly behind him.

His annoyance increased tenfold as the same song he'd listened to at least twice in the car came on over the loud speakers, static signaling the song's opening.

 _Have yourself a holly-jolly Christmas..._

Oh God why did it have to be _now_? Of all times Ludwig decided to venture out into the general public, why did it have to be _now_?

Lars wasn't a scrooge, per say (actually he was), but Christmas was not on his list of favorite holidays. He hated it. Everyone pretending to care about one another, the crappy music that went on and on even after they've run out of songs to play, the Christmas specials that showed for two months straight-hey let's start celebrating Christmas in November, doesn't that sound fun?-Shitty fruitcake one would get from their neighbor, who received it from their neighbor who received it from their cousin's aunt's son's niece's step mother-in-law. This fruitcake would be shoved off to the next poor soul until reaching the sentimental sap who would actually keep the cake until it went bad or-God forbid a fruitcake that actually got eaten by the one odd person in the world who could stand the taste of it.

Then came the gift giving. The one prick at the office (you know the one) would get shit for people he despised just because one day of the year he is required by society to not be a prick. Gift-giving made Lars sick.

But it didn't entirely mean he was an exception to the prick-rule. No, even he gave on Christmas. Though he being the prick he was, only gave a present to someone he actually liked. That narrowed it down.

Green eyes the color of deep pine flicked to Ludwig.

Buying for his partner was a nightmare. Ludwig didn't have many hobbies, besides baking and exercise, gardening, (Ludwig was highly secretive about his knitting) if those could be considered as such-he was an enigma. In years past, Lars had been able to get away with giving Ludwig petty little things like a new CD of classical music by that new composer he'd liked, or a baking kit or God, even a case of beer. Damn good quality beer, but only beer all the same. That year Lars had truly felt like an ass. He tried to put thought into his gifts-he really did. He was just no good at it. This year had to be different. It just had to be. Ludwig always gave him the most solicitous gifts.

The German was frowning and shaking his head in a polite, non-gregarious decline as a salesman ushered the blonde to his kiosk.

For all the follies Ludwig expressed for venturing out into the mall during this nightmarish season, Lars had to admit his partner planned well and did not stray from his set path.

For every outing event the man scheduled, he did so meticulously, every second to the dot. Groceries needed? Ludwig would write down the needed items and calculate an estimated time to gather them all and pay, leaving no time for distractions or delay. He was never more than two minutes off his goal. It was uncanny to be able to plan so well, almost scary. His years in the military had engrained order into his head.

This is naturally why Lars was surprised to see Ludwig slow his dogged pace to their next destination-the food court for a twenty minute lunch break-to a stop and peer into the window of a side store. The cross Dutchman

glowered at the store. It was new; he hadn't remembered seeing it on the map with the obnoxious YOU ARE HERE print in bold red letters. A brightly lit, inviting little store. It looked clean enough, but Lars soon saw what had caught Ludwig's attention.

Through the window, a few paces from the door, a smallish platform was raised, rimmed with shining glass. Ludwig had very few weaknesses. One was his overly sensitive ears. Another was what that store contained. In the middle of the platform were three sleeping German Shepard pups.

Oh God.

 _Keep moving Ludwig. Just go. We don't need a dog._

His fervent prayers went unheard as Ludwig lingered at the entrance, casting a hesitant look towards his partner, "I'm going to take a look, alright? You go on ahead. I'll meet you there." He gave a sheepish, almost shameful smile as he entered the store.

A foul string of curses paraded through the Dutchman's head for a span perhaps of thirty seconds. Dutifully, he didn't voice them. When he'd run out of curses, he trailed after the blonde.

Ludwig peered over the display case with unbidden curiosity, his thin lips turning upward in the smallest hint of a smile as one of the pups, a black male with one floppy ear, rolled over his sisters and yawned widely.

The German offered his hand to the rousing puppy, speaking a few soft words in German as the dog blinked up at him. The male gave his hand a sniff and a lick, then took it into his mouth before chewing. Ludwig's delight was palpable.

Lars watched the exchange with a turning gut. He'd found the perfect gift-but a dog was work. A dog was messy and chewed things up. A dog required bathing and walking and food and water, too probably. Lars had never owned a dog (his sister had always been allergic) and didn't know the first thing about caring for one. No, a dog wouldn't do.

Another display caught his eye and he glanced over to Ludwig who was now holding the pup, the ghost of a smile that had been on his lips before now a full out grin.

How many times did Ludwig smile in public?

Deeming the German preoccupied for now, Lars took a sidestep toward the other case. This one contained rabbits. His green eyes lit up. He knew how to take care of these; his family would breed rabbits every year. There were four in the case, two brown, one white and one peppered grey and black with long, smokey fur. His hand dipped in to reach for the white one. It startled and ran toward the other end of the enclosure. The same result occurred when he tried for the two brown ones. With only the speckled pepper left, he reached towards it. The rabbit crouched down, ears flat along its back in a tense posture, but it did not run. Lars let his fingers skim along its soft fur thoughtfully.

"We should get going now or we'll get off schedule."

The Dutchman jumped, and the rabbit hid beneath a plastic dome. He hadn't known Ludwig was watching him. Attempting to regain composure, Lars gave a terse nod. "You're ready to go?"

His partner nodded and together they made for the door. Lars couldn't help but notice the way Ludwig's gaze lingered on the black pup or how his hand seemed reluctant to leave the case as they passed by.

Damn it all to Hell.

The rest of the day passed by with aggravating slowness, as if the sand in the hourglass had slowed to a one grain crawl, just to spite the Dutchman.

When the pair arrived home, the groceries (if presents for coworkers could be called groceries) were neatly stowed away and Ludwig excused himself to his study, leaving the Dutch alone to mull over the possible positives a dog would bring to the

He went to bed later that night still undecided.

The next morning was a Monday.

Lars rolled to his side groggily, groping blindly for the blankets. One bleary eye cracked open, blurry vision coming to a fine focus on the alarm clock on the nightstand. The green numbers read ten twenty-three. The Dutchman sat up and rubbed at his eyes before cracking his neck. A quiet sigh left him; he was in a much better mood than the previous day now that there was no shitty Christmas music to wake up to. It was Sunday and he hadn't set the alarm.

"Mornin'." He muttered to no one in particular, because as he glanced over, Ludwig was not there. A note was left on the pillow.

Something came up at the office. I have to work today. I'm sorry I left without telling you; didn't want to wake you up. I made eggs. They're on the stove. I'll be home around four. Love you.

Lars let out a derisive snort.

 _Prick_.

He thought moodily. Ludwig usually woke him when he left.

... Probably because of Lars' mood yesterday. Fucking holidays.

He stood and ran a hand through his hair. He made his way to the bathroom to take a piss and brush his teeth. Not in that order. Afterwards he ventured into the kitchen and ate the eggs, not bothering to warm them up. As he chewed, Lars thought again of how lucky he was that Ludwig could actually cook. Nothing like his cousin from England.

With the dishes done, he stared at the spotless living room and contemplated his plans for the day.

TV was the best option he could manage.

The Dutch flipped through the channels with little interest that slowly but surely turned into a smoldering frustration.

Home Alone. Charlie Brown's Christmas. 12 Days of Christmas. A Christmas Carol. Buddy's Christmas. Elf. The Grinch.

... The Grinch wasn't so bad until he gave the presents back.

He stopped when he realized he was gritting his teeth; his dentist had warned him against doing that.

Finally coming to a channel that wasn't showing a Christmas special, he set the remote down.

Animal Planet. Some program about dogs.

Christ.

Off went the TV.

Lars tipped his head on the back of the couch and glowered at the ceiling.

"You really fuckin' hate me today, don't you?" He asked aloud.

Of course, he didn't receive an answer.

Finally, he decided he'd stalled on his decision long enough. A coin was produced from the confines of the couch cushion.

"Heads no dog, tails dog." He muttered to the coin.

He flipped. Tails.

... Best two out of three then.

Tails. Good.

Tails again. Great.

The coin was left on the coffee table.

Lars got dressed for the pet store anyways.

He took his time driving (not that he had a choice with the holiday traffic), aiming to avoid the busier roads where the idiots tended to drive.

All for naught, he learned, because the holiday season brought out the idiot in everyone it seemed.

He managed to get to the mall in one piece.

Lars pushed and shoved and shuffled his way through crowds of people, actively becoming a player in the mildly violent art of war that is Shopping On Christmas Eve.

However...

Like every war, there were allies. An old man sat in a wheelchair outside of a store that clearly was not made for seniors. He glared at many a passerby, gritting his gums... Until Lars started passed him, elbowing his way through a thick herd of adolescents.

"Hey, you." The man hissed.

Lars slowed. Under normal circumstance, people did not address him. He gave off the typical 'Don't fuck with me' air. One of his best qualities. Apparently the old man hadn't known this, or was just desperate.

"Hey." The man whispered again. "Get me outta here."

The Dutchman raised a brow.

"They won't lemme walk anymore-lung cancer." The old fart explained, gesturing to a canola that Lars had failed to notice. Why wasn't this crazy old coot hooked up to the oxygen? "They worry about my goddamn health the whole time and then take me here and just park me outside." Said crazy coot jerked a thumb towards the store, "No respect, I tell ya. I'm not wasting anymore of my life sitting 'ere rotting in a damn chair while they wait for me to keel over."

In that short time Lars decided he liked this crotchety old man. Even if the act of kidnapping a fatally ill senior was shady at best, he decided to do it anyway.

Wordlessly and very casually, he strolled over and wheeled his cantankerous new ally away from the shop.

After that, it was easy, really. The best way to clear a path in a mall full of idiots is to get a wheelchair up to speed. You bump into someone, they turn to yell at you. They look down and see what had just run over their foot, then they wipe the pissed off look from their face and apologize to you for ramming them with a present day battering ram. On top of this being very useful, it was also immensely amusing.

He dropped off the old man at the food court, giving a cursory nod before walking briskly off. Not a word to share and not so much as a thank you.

He got to the pet store in short time.

Lars noticed the rabbit he'd pet the day before was gone, though he pushed the thought aside. He was here on business.

He took the dog from the pen and placed it on the counter. "I want this one." He told the cashier curtly.

The woman behind the counter gave him a brief, arch look that could have roughly been translated as: Do you want that bagged too?

Nonetheless she nodded consent and the two went through the motions of paying. On top of the dog, Lars also paid for food, a cage, brushes, leashes and a dog bed.

With a squirming, untrained pup in tow, the Dutchman high tailed his ass out of the mall.

The dog threw up in his car. Twice. This issued a stop for cleanup.

He locked it in the bathroom as soon as he arrived home. Immediately he set up the cage, throwing the bed in and fishing a set of bowls from. the cabinets for food and water. The dog was placed in the cage, where for an hour it whined before promptly falling asleep. Lars looked at his handiwork with a determined nod.

By the time Ludwig arrived home that night, Lars was researching dog training. He was pleased to read that German Shepherds were easy to bathroom train. That was a relief.

He closed the laptop, eyes stinging as Ludwig shut the door.

"Welcome home." Lars rumbled, stretching.

"Did you already eat?" The German called as he went to put something away, presumably his briefcase.

"Warmed up leftovers." Lars shouted.

Ludwig returned in his home clothing, and sat down beside the Dutch. He leaned on him slightly and Lars let him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Tired?" He asked quietly, shifting to press his lips to Ludwig's temple.

"A little." the blonde admit, shifting to kiss his partner. He pulled away half a second later, pointing a finger to the cage in the corner of the room.

"What is that...?" He asked cautiously. Lars blinked. Ludwig was using the voice that meant he had the suspicion that the Dutch had done something stupid like when Lars had gone to work high.

"It's a cage." He answered very simply. Ludwig hated simple, obvious answers.

The German gave his partner an arch look and shifted to turn on the lamp. He stared at the furry lump near the door of the cage. "Is that..?" He stood and knelt to open the cage, taking the pup into his arms.

Lars could tell he was trying not to smile. The Dutchman cleared his throat as if his throat were stopped with phlegm, "Merry Christmas." He glanced to the clock, "In three hours, technically."

Ludwig didn't seem to care about how many hours until Christmas. He finally smiled and let the dog go back to sleep. The German returned to his spot beside Lars and kissed him hard on the lips. "He'll need a name, you know."

"That's up to you."

"No. It's up to you."

Lars stared at the black fuzz ball in the cage and looked to Ludwig helplessly, "Blackie?" He asked lamely.

Ludwig gave a determined nod. "Thank you." He whispered.

"I'm glad you like it." Lars had finally done something right this year.

"Come here, I have something to show you." Ludwig was practically giddy, and Lars was struck with how young he still was. The German nearly dragged him down the hall and into the guest room.

On the dresser sat a squat cage with a plastic dome. A rabbit, _the_ rabbit, lay curled inside.

. . .

The next morning there were no presents beneath the tree. There was no tree. There were no singing carolers or crowds of loved ones.

Lars didn't need any of that. He had Ludwig, in his arms. He stared at the ceiling, a smirk on his lips as he glanced towards the doorway where a the only Christmas decoration in the house hung.

Christmas had its uses.

Like Mistletoe.

AN: My first NedGer, which turned out better than I'd thought it would, so yay for bitchy, snarky Netherlands. And also the headcannon that Luddy has over-sensitive ears =w=; But yeah like I said, I thought this one turned out better than a lot of my others...[intense staring at piles of shitty RusGer]

...This one kind of dragged out for a bit and I apologize for that (along with the super lateness-like hey let's post a Christmas fic in July? Sounds fun right? That is in part due to my own Scrooge-ness.)

Anywhore, tell me what you guys think. Reviews = Love

Also special shout out to HetalianLightSwitch for their PMs. I really appreciated that.


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